Rabid
by gallery
Summary: Fenris once believed that some things must be worse than slavery. But hope never seemed more futile than the moment he is returned to bondage. Betrayed by Hawke, the only mage he's allowed himself to trust, Fenris is consumed by his need for revenge. He'll let nothing stand between him and bloody satisfaction, carving his way through enemies and allies to the final confrontation.
1. R uthless

_He who fights with monsters must take care, lest he thereby become a monster._

chapter i.

"ruthless"

"If you want him, he's yours."

The words lack the heat suitable for betrayal and Fenris looks at Hawke in disbelief. His blood still pounds through his body; a potent concoction of anticipation and adrenaline, fueling his fury at being lured into Danarius' trap by the waif-elf with the red hair. His ___sister_.

But now, in a rush that makes his guts lurch, his blood goes silent.

"Hawke, no…"

The faces hovering behind them catch his eye and Fenris glances at the companions he's spent several years of his freedom with.

Merrill has her eyes anchored at her feet, refusing to look at anyone, waiting for the ground to swallow her. But Anders stares back into Fenris' eyes, his mouth a solid line. The mage hides his thoughts in plain sight.

Fenris curls his lip.

"Interesting." Danarius purrs. "You will be well-compensated of course, Champion. The power of the Imperium will be at your disposal."

Fenris' eyes snap back to Hawke. "Don't do this, Hawke." He can hear his desperation. "I need you."

"You only need me when I can be useful to you." Hawke snaps. "Like fighting your bounty hunters and chasing Hadriana. I'm sick of being your attack dog. Sorry, Fenris. You're on your own."

"As I always am!" His markings flicker as he fumbles with his anger. "I should not be surprised; it was foolish to trust any mage!"

"You pushed everyone away, Fenris." Hawke stab at the space between them with an accusing finger. "Not that I didn't damn well try! Merrill tried harder than any sane person should and you treated her like garbage." The Dalish tries not to squirm at being mentioned. "So don't act surprised we don't leap to your rescue, you hateful little shit."

"Not everyone." Fenris says, his voice thick with regret. "But I see it would have been the right choice."

"For the love of the Maker, don't drag me back into that. Fenris, we only fucked one night. And then you were as fast to get back into your clothes as you had to be out of them. For a slave, you never hesitated to make use of other people."

"And he calls me a hypocrite." Anders sneers in aside.

"I… I explained why I had to leave!"

"There's always some excuse." Hawke dismisses him with a snort. "It's done, Fenris."

"Far from it." Fenris growls.

"Now, now, Fenris," Danarius says with the soft click of his tongue, thoroughly amused by their exchange, "Don't work yourself into a fuss. Be a good boy and come quietly. There's no reason for you to remain here."

"And what do you intend to do with me?" Fenris demands. "If you're after these markings, I won't lay still for you to carve them out."

"I have never known you to simply lie still, my little wolf." Danarius says, a sly curl to his lips.

Fenris narrows his eyes at Danarius in disgust, his lips pulling back from his teeth.

"What a savage look. Has living in the streets made you feral?" Danarius chuckles. "I could reassure you that my intention is not to kill you, but that would give the impression that your approval matters. So let us instead observe that you are standing before me now, alive, when I can have it otherwise. You may change my mind by resisting further. It is up to you."

"Don't throw your life away, Leto." Varania urges softly.

Fenris looks around him. He is fast enough to kill the guards before Danarius can summon a spell to bind him. He would have to escape through the front door; he may make it outside if Hawke or the others don't intervene, but then what? Flee to the mansion like they would expect, lock the doors and hide under a blanket?

No. The chase is over.

Fenris lowers his head, allowing hair to shield his eyes. He doesn't trust what the others might see in them.

Defeat.

"No." He finally musters, "I will go with you."

"Lovely!" Danarius smiles. He passes a small velvet pouch to Hawke, who accepts it and tucks it into a belt pocket. "Here, Champion. A token of thanks for returning my lost property. A more appropriate reward will be delivered once I return to the Imperium." He gestures to Varania and his guardsmen. "Come along, everyone. The boat for Minrathous departs within the hour."

The lieutenant of Danarius' guard steps forward to enclose a slender collar around Fenris' neck. The hand brushes against his hair as a pin is slid into place, locking it. Fenris jerks away from the contact, a scowl engraved around his mouth.

What is the point of such a trinket, other than to shame him with its symbol?

The lieutenant is not intimidated by his dangerous look and shoves Fenris between the shoulders. "Walk, slave."

Fenris reluctantly obeys, his shoulders stooped. His steps are minced, the path back to slavery as difficult to walk as broken glass. He glares up through a veil of his hair as he passes Hawke. Rage lashes through him the moment Hawke meets his gaze.

Fenris doesn't recognize those eyes. Eyes that once scorched him with desire now burn cold with contempt.

"I won't forget this, Hawke." Fenris swears. "Neither will you."

The lyrium brands on his skin flare to life. The lieutenant reaches for Fenris but Fenris evades his hand in one fluid movement. He grabs the man's throbbing jugular, allowing his fingers to materialize around the esophagus. The tissue tears with ease between the serrated edges of Fenris' fang-tipped gauntlets.

Fenris closes his fingers in a fist as his body follows behind the momentum of its swing, turning to face Hawke. Seconds have elapsed and the lieutenant won't realize his throat has been slashed open for a few more, but Fenris instantly realizes killing the guard was a mistake; Hawke has already pulled out of reach.

Fenris' arm stabs past where the mage had been standing. His fist punches through Merrill's chest, bursting through the other side, between her shoulder-blades. Her large green eyes instantly roll backward, blood bubbling out of her mouth. Blood sprays in stinging fissures, painting the far wall, managing to make the Hanged Man even filthier. Merrill's staff falls from her twitchy fingers.

Time catches up to him.

"Evil bastard—!" Anders yells, hungry flames rippling up his arm. With a furious slash of his hand a ball of fire comes hurtling at Fenris.

Fenris spins toward Anders, lashing out his arm to throw off Merrill's weight. He sends her body sailing, freeing his hand from her chest with a sickening plop. The walls of the room shudder under the backlash of concussive force when Merrill's body impacts the fireball, staggering Anders. He's hit by Merrill and is knocked down to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

Then without warning agony branches through Fenris, along the tracks of lyrium embedded in his skin. Their blue glow vanishes abruptly. Within the same moment the collar around his neck is tightening, strangling the scream lodged in his throat.

"Heel, Fenris."

His vision darkens as though all the candlelight in the room has been extinguished at once. Fenris manages to stay on his feet, unsteady as they are. The collar continues to tighten, mashing his jugular toward the back of his throat. He feels the burn of bile rising to drown his lungs.

A fist smashes into the side of Fenris' face, shredding the inside of his cheek against his teeth. The room spins into the shadows and is swallowed up. Fenris slips on the blood pooling over the floor, slapping the ground with his full body. His head knocks against the wood planks, stunning him.

He sips for air, his lungs burning with urgent need. With a wheeze the air comes, the collar slowly relaxing as he lay motionless on the floor.

Magic. Of course. Danarius would fancy such a sadistic toy.

Any hope of escaping is now impossible.

A hand grabs him and rolls him onto his back. Darkness hovers at the edges of his vision. Fenris can make out the shape of Hawke standing over him, staff pulled back like a lance, a muscle-twitch shy of skewering Fenris to the floor.

In a moment of weakness, the fight leaves him, and Fenris invites it.

But the deathblow doesn't come.

"Champion, my apologies." Danarius approaches, his hands spread in supplication.

"He killed Merrill!" Hawke howls, anguished.

Anders grunts as he frees himself from beneath the body, turning Merrill over so that her glassy eyes look unblinking at the sparrows in the rafters. Anders is covered in her blood, his feather pauldrons sticky and ruined. "He nearly killed ___you_, love!"

"Yes, his manners are terribly lacking." Danarius sighs, not sparing a glance down at the gore. The loss of his lieutenant isn't worth acknowledging. "Of course, I will provide restitution for your dead elf."

Fenris bitterly tries to laugh but only succeeds in violently coughing. He clenches his teeth. "The magister is generous."

"I almost felt sorry for you." Hawke snarls down at Fenris. "But you're an animal. You ___belong_ on the end of a chain."

"He's a monster!" Anders declares angrily. "He's more dangerous than any blood mage."

Fenris is dragged to his feet once Hawke steps back and lowers the staff.

"I'll return someday, Hawke." Fenris croaks. "Expect me, for I'll come for you last."

Hawke reaches out and roughly grabs Fenris by the chin, calloused fingers smearing the blood by his ruined mouth, mingling the blood there, some of it Merrill's. Hawke looks into Fenris' slitted green eyes. "I doubt that." Hawke breathes against his face. "You're going to be busy ___coming_ for somebody else." The words are so caustic Fenris' insides twist like barbed wire. "But I'm flattered that you'll be thinking of me." Hawke roughly pushes Fenris' head down, releasing his chin.

Hawke looks at Danarius. "Get him the fuck out of my bar."

"With due haste." Danarius offers Hawke a consonant nod before snapping his fingers at his attendants. "Strip him, quickly. I won't have those filthy clothes rub off on the upholstery in my cabin."

Fenris is seized by several hands. The sound of tearing fabric is harsh on his ears as the tunic is ripped from his body. "Do not touch me!" The snarl only squeaks out. He is grabbed by his hair and his head thrust toward his knees. His leggings are pulled down, tattoos stinging from the brusque contact.

"He's so thin." Varania whispers.

Fenris feels his skin burn in response.

Every piece of clothing, even his gauntlets and chestplate, is tossed into the fireplace, and the flames hiss at the bloody garments before they begin to smoke.

"That will have to do." Danarius sighs. "Now we must keep up a pace. I won't have that little stunt delay our departure."

A guard squeezes Fenris by the neck and pushes him forward. Naked, Fenris walks outside. Gawkers have already gathered in the street. A slave in the City of Chains must hold some novelty for them, Fenris thinks with disgust.

As Danarius leads the march to the docks, their following of curious onlookers grows. Fenris can feel the many eyes staring at his bare skin, his elaborate tattoos washed red with gore, his stark white hair tinged pink with sweat and blood. The Imperial guards in their ornate, glittering onyx armor flanking him on every side is enough of a spectacle in itself.

Fenris keeps his head down as he is herded down the twisting alleys and markets, his eyes burning damply from the sun glinted off the sandstone streets. Not from shame, he swears to himself. They can't have his dignity unless he gives it to them.

"Leto."

"Don't call me that." Fenris hisses.

"Fenris." Varania tries again, "You need to know that I didn't have a choice."

"A slave doesn't need to understand anything."

"This was the only way for me to become an apprentice. To have a chance at a better life."

"Mother would be proud." He sneers.

"Mother would understand. When you used the boon from Danarius to free us, we no longer had a home, or food, or a way to survive. When mother got sick… her only option was to die. You lived pampered in a mansion while I scavenged the streets all on my own. If I wasn't willing to spend the nights wallowing in garbage then I had to accompany someone else to their bed." Her forlorn gaze pleads with him but he rejects it with a violent shake of his head.

"Why tell me this! You'll never be able to justify—"

"You think you know true suffering, but there are countless slaves in Tevinter, Fenris. Compared to most of them, you were blessed. You threw away a life anyone else would be grateful to have. Now that the consequences have caught up with you, you're angry. But I don't deserve your anger."

"Shut your mouth, Varania!" Fenris snarls. He refuses to even consider that possibility!

Varania does, thankfully, give up on him. Without a further word, she leaves to accompany Danarius at the head of the procession.

Fenris looks up at the sky, and sees the masts and sails of ships rise over the docks, with their many colored flags rolling in the warm air. He sees the colors of the Imperium amongst them and as he approaches the ship, the heraldry of the intwined Dragon and Snake is clear. It's a small, tight vessel, well below the extravagant standards of a magister of Danarius' standing. A clipper, built to cut through water like a spear. Danarius must have been in a hurry to reach Kirkwall and claim his prize.

Fenris notices the carving of the prophetess Andraste at the prow, naked but for flames that billow around her body and wind into her hair. She smiles down at Fenris knowingly, but never has he felt so alone.


	2. E nmity

_He who fights with monsters must take care, lest he thereby become a monster._

chapter ii.

"enmity"

The ship gently sways beneath Fenris' bare feet, the muted groan of wood traveling up his soles. Each dip of the ship stern into the choppy sea waters makes the windows in the captain's cabin to shudder. Sunset glares through the dingy window panes, its reds and orange reminding Fenris of the pictures of colored glass in Kirkwall's chantry. The light stretches across the cabin, shining at the edges of a crystal decanter sitting on a silver tray.

Fenris watches Danarius lift the decanter's matching crystal cup from the tray. Its dark liquid shines like amber held up to a summer sun as it slides toward Danarius' lips. He takes a slow drink, his pink-rimmed eyes fixed on Fenris, returning the elf's gaze. When he lowers the glass, the tip of his tongue slips across his upper lip, relishing the taste.

Or perhaps relishing the sight of the naked slave before him.

"Did you find an opportunity to sample Antivan brandy, little wolf?" Danarius smiles, balancing the weight of the glass across his fingers.

Fenris says nothing.

Danarius takes another sip.

"An Antivan?"

Fenris unclenches his jaw. "No."

"All those years of travel yielded no noteworthy experiences? Just wasteful."

"I was somewhat distracted trying to stay alive." Fenris replies coldly.

"And you succeeded beyond all expectation. I was thrilled when Varania showed me your letter." Danarius' smiles is aimed past Fenris, where Varania is silently standing. "It has all been serendipitous, to say the least. You have your sister, I have my apprentice, and we can begin again as one happy family."

Lines deepen across his nose as Fenris pulls back his lip from his teeth. "Do not mock me, Danarius."

"Must you spoil the mood?" Danarius irritably sets down his cup by the arm of his chair. The crystal clacks sharply against the tray.

"And what mood does this hope to inspire?" Fenris demands, gesturing to his own nudity. Dried sweat and blood clings to him like a second skin and innumerable scratches and bruises wind over his torso and legs, marring the elegant lines of his markings. The welt on his face is still tender and the inside of his mouth tastes of old blood.

"Reunions should be a tad less spiteful, I think."

"I don't care what you think." Fenris snaps, sharply glances at Varania. "Either of you."

Danarius runs his fingers across his lap, smoothing out an unseemly wrinkle in the fabric. He wears a band around one of his fingers that is etched with lyrium; Fenris can sense it, perhaps through his markings? "But you shall care, like any slave worth their silver." His fingers find a snagged thread along a train of embroidery. He frowns at it. "When we are back home, your memory will be re-purposed."

Fenris' eyes darken in confusion.

"We'll put this whole awful experience behind us and won't think again of those plebeians you cavorted with. Or your utter failure in Seheron, which began this mess." He yanks his fingers and the loose thread snaps free of his robe. "Something I would like to forget, myself." Danarius rubs his fingers together and the thread vanishes inside a spark of flame. "Yes, I believe a clean slate will improve your attitude considerably."

"I… I thought receiving these markings had wiped everything away? The pain of it..." Fenris whispers. His eyes slip closed, though it can't help him. Trying to remember anything before the ritual only succeeds in making his markings ache like an old wound.

Danarius reaches for his glass and takes another drink. "I think, this time, it will be worth a few more slaves to strengthen the spell."

"May I watch?" Varania's voice pulls Fenris from his thoughts. He slowly turns to stare at her. "To witness such powerful magic is a rare privilege. I would be honored."

Her request has the opposite effect on Danarius, who revels a little further into the velvet cushion of his chair, smiling with all the charm of a viper. "I'm pleased by your interest, my dear. That ambition will take you far."

Fenris hones his glare between Varania's eyes, wishing she could feel the heat behind it, the hate that boils his blood. This crone was his sister, the family he'd wondered about for so long? He should crush her heart right now and rid the world of one less magister.

But Fenris doesn't even twitch a muscle in her direction. He knows the pointlessness of it. The world would not notice the loss and the slaves that will fuel her rituals will inevitably bleed for someone else.

More importantly, Fenris does not wish to die, which is what would happen if he chose to rebel while wearing Danarius' toy collar. No, no dying. Not yet.

"P-Please," Fenris grits, forcing the words past his pride. It is not easy. "Don't do it."

Danarius slowly lifts his eyebrows.

"My memory… is who I am."

"And it has made you spiteful and defiant. I shan't trust myself to enjoy a moment's relaxation with you acting so belligerent."

"Leto," Varania says hesitantly, "when you competed for those markings and won the honors of the tournament, it was the happiest I had seen you. You fought so hard for mother and I but you also fought for yourself. That's who you are. This isn't you." Her voice is gentle. He hates how gentle. "You're miserable."

"Of course I'm miserable," He responds tersely. "I have been betrayed by everyone I have dared to trust, all in one afternoon." He grabs the slender band around his neck. "Then I was given this charming gift and endured unimaginable pain. Or was being paraded through half of Kirkwall in nothing but my skin meant to make up for all that?"

Danarius sighs, finding the grousing tiresome. "Your relationship with the Champion is enough reason to deny you. I can't have thoughts of revenge tempting you to desert again."

Fenris ventures a step forward, the palms of his blood-stained hands rising imploringly. "Danarius, please-"

Danarius lifts a finger. "Ah."

Fenris drops his hands. "_Master_. Please."

Danarius idly twists the ring around his finger, his eyes tracking down the elf's body, perusing the grooves of lithe muscle which flex with each breath. "I don't find you very persuasive, my little wolf."

Fenris swallows and forces himself to meet the magister's eyes. "I can be." He says thickly.

This causes Danarius to pause. He stops turning the ring around his finger and knits his hands together, his sickly-colored eyes imbibing the sight of his bare-skinned slave. Fenris suppresses a shiver.

Then Danarius nods and Fenris obligingly sinks to his knees. He pushes away the humiliation of crawling on his hands and knees like the pleasure slaves of Carastes; they at least wore garments made of coins and jewels. He wears nothing but his filthy markings.

His muscles bunch and tense with loathing as approaches the chair of Danarius. He tries to appears seductive, peering through the hair hanging over his eyes. A challenge, considering his urge to vomit. When Fenris reaches the foot of the chair, he lifts his hand to touch the magister's robe.

"Stop." Danarius commands. "You move with the grace of a three-legged mabari." His nose creases as if his last sip of vintage brandy is distasteful. "Perhaps your lack of finesse excited your Fereldan bumpkin but it is utterly unbecoming in any slave of mine." Danarius flicks his fingers in an imperiously _begone_ fashion. "I will allow you to try this once more."

"I, ah… as you wish."

Fenris rises and turns, returning to the center of the cabin. He tries to ignore Varania's presence and she has at least the decency to pretend not to watch his humiliation. Fenris lowers himself to the floor. His gut churns in a tumult of emotions, humiliation mixing in with his bitterness and rage. His ribs expand with deep breaths as he tries to rise above his turmoil. Hawke's face surfaces in his thoughts. Fenris holds on to the memory of those contemptuous eyes and allows everything else to recede from his mind.

Steeling himself, he slinks forward slowly, languidly; his movements more aware of the taut muscles in his arms and stomach and the sway of his narrow hips as he exchanges one knee forward for the next. He forces himself to look Danarius in the face during the approach, though no amount of determination could put desire in his fierce green eyes.

He reaches the man's feet for the second time and lifts his hands for Danarius' knees, to part his robe.

"Stop!"

Fenris tenses at the magister's agitation, with his hands hanging in the air. He hasn't even touched the cloth. Fenris wonders if it would be possible to rip Danarius' jaw from his face before the collar chokes him to death. "Master?" He inquires, discarding the thought. He will not throw his life away for Danarius when he has a worthier enemy on the battlefield.

"Do you really think I wish to be pawed at with those filthy hands?" Danarius reaches for the decanter. He tips the neck toward his glass to replenish it. Fenris notes the man's indulgence; each toast another celebration to his _victory_ no doubt. Fenris is poised near enough that he breathes in the heat of the brandy's rich aroma. "All these years spent honing swordplay, you've clearly allowed other skills to fall to the wayside." As the decanter moves back to the table it spills pins of light over the room, beautiful and brief in the vanishing evening. "It was a vain hope that you might have picked up technique from the Champion."

The reminder of his night spent with Hawke causes Fenris to tense all over. "Hawke wasn't interested in foreplay." He answers stiffly.

"Ho!" Danarius laughs, toasting his glass at Fenris in delight. "How saucy."

"It did not keep me from learning all I could. You will be pleasantly surprised. I even venture that you will reconsider this ritual of yours, lest my skill suffer as well."

"I'm fascinated." Danarius looks down his robes at Fenris, his eyes half-lidded. "You must demonstrate your new-found talents, then. If you impress, I just might reconsider."

Before this day Fenris would have chosen to rip out his own tongue before offering himself up for pleasures. But if it will lead him to Hawke, Fenris is willing to commit to a great many things he never would have before considered.

"Varania, sweet."

Fenris lifts his head to watch his sister approach. She moves with a deliberate allure borne from servitude to decadent masters; trained to make even the emptying of chamber-pots appear seductive. Danarius extends his hand and Varania gingerly steps within his reach. Without moving from his chair Danarius' hand reaches for the clasp at the nape of Varania's simple dress. There is no other sound in the cabin but the dull rumble of waves as the folds of the dress open.

Fenris' composure slips. "What are you doing?" He gasps.

The tight bodice of the dress relaxes and the collar unfolds from Varania's pale shoulders, exposing the swell of her bosom and skin the color of cream with a touch of honey. Danarius returns Fenris' question with steady eyes, though glazed from drink, his aged fingers tracing over the small bumps defining Varania's spine. "Forming an objective appraisal. Come, dear."

Varania slips her fingers into the fabric gathered at her chest and pulls the dress down, baring her breasts. Fenris averts his eyes, staring at the floor between his hands in shock. He inhales sharply when the dress drops to the floor, encircling Varania's slender ankles.

Fenris realizes the magister's intent with horror. "She is my sister!"

"Varania is my apprentice." Danarius corrects him sharply. "You are a slave. That is the only distinction you must heed."

Fenris shuts his eyes tight, feeling a tremble begin deep in his bones. He knew the perversions of Danarius ran deep, but this...

"This is an opportunity for you to win the favor your new Mistress."

Fenris dares to flick his gaze upward, through the hair covering his eyes. Danarius idly strokes the curve of Varania's backside with the same fondness dog-lords show their hounds. Varania appears oblivious to it, or perhaps indifferent if her earlier claims were true; sleeping with men for food and shelter has a way of changing perspectives on sex. She stands with her hands anchored at her sides, making no attempt to conceal her body from her brother's gaze. Indeed, her gaze seems fixed on a different part of the world.

"Your crude behavior in that tavern did you no credit," he admonishes, "she trembles; likely in fear you rut like a wild dog." He chuckles and gives her rear cheek a reassuring pat. "He's never been that bad, my dear." Fenris is too mortified to hide behind anger, his mouth suddenly gone dry. "Shall we, then?"

Danarius fingers sink into the soft curve of Varania's hip, giving her a gentle push forward. She steps outside of the ring of clothing. Fenris instantly rears back. He almost falls in haste but his hands catch the floor beneath him. The pounding of his heart feels like a stake is being driven through his chest.

Danarius leers from behind his raised glass. "It's good to see some things in this world remain honest."

Quickly Fenris sits on his heels and grabs between his thighs. The muscle hanging there is longer and heavier than it had been. He sequesters it behind his hand and bites into his lip to hold his revulsion in.

Sick, depraved bastard!

But he reserves a piece of that disgust for himself, debased by his own body, against every screaming fiber of his being.

"It's all right, Leto." Varania says softly.

"No!" Fenris balks. He wishes he had never written that letter. He wishes he never nurtured that germ of hope Hadriana had planted. Moreover he should not have killed her nearly so quickly. He will not make that mistake again. Fenris closes his eyes. To say his soul feels weary would be insufficient. "I… I could not… bear the shame."

Danarius leans forward. Fenris smells the fumes of brandy which slither from his withered lips. "But you _will_ fuck her, my pet. With sheer joy. And after every drop of yours is spent, you will kiss my feet and thank me. Because I am a generous master. Is that not how you described me?"

Fenris can't answer.

A boom of distant thunder shakes the cabin windows. Twilight has blanketed the windows in black and velvet blues. They no longer remind Fenris of the Maker. They are portals to the Void itself.

Fenris drops down to his hands and knees, head bent low enough to touch his knuckles. "Please." He whispers. "_Please_."

A vile grin crawls across Danarius' lips. "Then beg for my pleasure."

Fenris collapses to the floor, prostrating himself at the feet of this iniquitous man, rubbings his face into the rug to soak bitter tears with the unforgiving wool. "I beg to please you, master!" He cries hoarsely. "Whip me! Teach me that you own me! I beg your touch, master! I beg it!"

"Such delicious drama. I could eat it with a spoon." Danarius giggles. Fenris can feel his shadow fall over him when Danarius leans even closer. "On your knees, slave."

With heavy movements Fenris lifts his belly from the floor and draws up his legs.

"Open your mouth."

Obediently he tilts his head up and opens his mouth. Soaked fingers roughly push past his lips, spreading the taste of Antivan brandy over his tongue. It burns like fire against the rakes inside his cheek. Droplets collect at the edges of his lips and drip from his chin.

"Suck them."

He sucks them while the last of his pride is murdered in his chest.

"You do that well." The fingers scrape his teeth as Danarius pulls them free. He reaches for the decanter by the chair. "If you like it, then you should have more." Danarius then lifts it over Fenris and pours out the dark liquid. It splashes over Fenris' head, matting down his hair, running down his face. His lacerations burn as the brandy coats his back and slips down his thighs. It's rich smell overpowers his nostrils, with a strong hint of copper as his skin washes clean of blood. The stains that soak into the rug are black as sin.

Another peal of thunder cracks through the skies, close enough it could be overhead. Varania lifts her eyes to the ceiling, listening to the scuff of boots moving across the ship deck. Her lips move; Fenris barely catches her softly murmured words: _No lightning._

Danarius leans back in his chair, tossing aside a silk handkerchief used for drying his fingers. "Let us explore what else that naughty mouth of yours can do."

The footsteps on the ceiling quicken into furious pounding. Danarius' face twists with annoyance. "What in the ever-loving Void are they _doing_ up there?"

The answer is an urgent knock at the door before a deckhand bursts in. His silk tunic is torn and spotted with blood and his hair a sweaty mop, with eyes as large as he was startled to be barging into a Tevinter magister's suite. From the opened passage shouting can be heard. Fenris' more sensitive hearing discerns the ringing of steel weapons.

"Messere!" The sailor cries, "The ship is under att-_ack_!" He stiffens abruptly and falls face first to the floor with a curved dagger handle sticking from his left shoulder. It pierced clean through the heart.

I know that blade, Fenris realizes.

"Blast it." A female voice carries from the opened doorway. "He ruined my entrance."

Danarius rises from his chair, slow and leisurely, befitting his confidence that whatever might come through that doorway could be easily dispatched, should he wish it. There is also a detectable sway in his legs from his considerable drinking. "Who dares?" He demands.

A dusky-skinned woman steps over the deckhand's body; she wears dark leather boots as long as her legs. "That would be the new captain of this vessel." She smiles and a gold piercing under her full lips catches light.

"Isabela?"

"In the flesh." She winks at Fenris. "Though not as literally as you. Not that I'm complaining. I'll probably join you. But later, when these killjoys are dead."


End file.
